


In the end, only kindness matters

by Antheas_Blackberry



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 31 Days of Ineffables, 31 Days of Ineffables Advent Calendar Challenge 2019 (Good Omens), 6000 Years of Pining (Good Omens), Angst and Humor, Anxious Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale and Crowley Through The Ages (Good Omens), Caring Aziraphale (Good Omens), Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Crowley's Plants (Good Omens), Dining at the Ritz (Good Omens), Dirty Talk, Don't copy to another site, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Ficlet Collection, First Kiss, Fluff, Gardener Aziraphale (Good Omens), Hurt/Comfort, Ineffable Advent Calendar, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Marriage Proposal, Mentioned The Them (Good Omens), Mentioned Warlock Dowling, Nanny Crowley (Good Omens), New Year's Eve, No beta we fall like Crowley, Slice of Life, Snow, Snowball Fight, Soft Aziraphale (Good Omens), Soft Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Soft Crowley (Good Omens), South Downs Cottage (Good Omens), Teasing, Tempter Crowley (Good Omens), The Dowlings' A+ Parenting (Good Omens), Vignette, canon compliant alcohol consumption, embarrassed Aziraphale, grumpy Aziraphale, which means they probably drink too much but being ethereal/occult beings it doesn't really matter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-25 04:27:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 31
Words: 8,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21630139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Antheas_Blackberry/pseuds/Antheas_Blackberry
Summary: A collection of 31 holiday themed bits of fluff based on theadvent tumblrpost bydrawlightThe title comes from Jewel's 'Hands.'
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 98
Kudos: 65





	1. Mistletoe

**Author's Note:**

> Dining at the Ritz has never been so enjoyable.

_December  
The Ritz, London_

Dining at the Ritz was something that Aziraphale and Crowley found themselves doing more and more after the Apocalypse that wasn’t. Aziraphale loved the Ritz; the food, the wine, the atmosphere. Crowley loved The Ritz because he was could lose himself in being absolutely enamoured while watching his angel relish in the culinary delights. He also loved listening to the little sounds that the angel made while he ate, but that was nothing new under the sun.

The pair were just finishing up the last of their dessert; well, Aziraphale was taking his last bites of an absolutely scrumptious Fig Leaf Mousse, and Crowley was enjoying the last of his wine and savouring the angel’s delight of the confectionary. 

Taking in the festively decorated dining room and smiling, Aziraphale turned to Crowley. “This was absolutely delightful. Thank you, my dear.” 

Crowley nonchalantly shrugged a shoulder. “Was nothing, Angel,” he said. What he was thinking was along the lines of _anything for you angel- the moon, the sun, the stars; they all can be yours, just say the word- anything and everything._

Somehow, the waiter picked this exact moment to bring the bill, and Crowley paid for it without a second thought. They then found themselves collecting their coats before heading out into the chilly December evening. 

Crowley had just adjusted his scarf around his neck, when Aziraphale gently reached for his hand. He must have made an inelegant sound in response, because when he looked up, Aziraphale was grinning broadly and his cerulean eyes were sparkling with delight. They continued to do so, as the angel brought Crowley’s hand to his lips and gently kissed the soft, cool skin.

“ _Ngk,_ ” Crowley squeaked.

“Oh, my dear,” Aziraphale whispered before gently caressing Crowley’s cheek and pressing their lips together tenderly. It was a chaste kiss; this was the Ritz and Aziraphale had _standards_ , but it was a kiss, none the less.

“Angel,” Crowley whispered, after they broke apart. His voice was filled with awe mixed with a slight bit of confusion.

Aziraphale briefly looked up, eyes still sparkling. Crowley followed his gaze and found that they were standing underneath a perfect bough of mistletoe. The serpent of Eden couldn’t help the grin that crossed his face as he pulled Aziraphale close for a second, less chaste, kiss.


	2. Snow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Christmas morning.

_Christmas morning  
A cottage,  
South Downs, UK_

Crowley woke before dawn Christmas morning. There was no physical reason for him to be awake, yet he was. It was almost like he was experiencing the childish eager anticipation of Christmas morning. It wasn’t usually like this. It had never been like this for him before. Then, he’d never been free to love Aziraphale this way before. He thought of the gift he had hidden in a fake bottom of one of his planters, and realised it was a wonder he had been able to sleep at all.

He got up out of bed and left a peacefully sleeping Aziraphale beneath the warm duvet. Crowley made himself a mug of coffee and then quietly stood on the threshold of the now snow-covered garden, steam rising from his coffee in the chilly air. The demon watched the sunrise over the garden as it changed from purple to orange to amber; wisps of clouds streaking pink across the dawn sky.

Aziraphale came up behind him and wrapped his arms around his waist. He was still warm from sleep, curls both flat and sticking up all at the same time. There was a crease on his cheek from the pillowcase. Crowley was so terribly fond of him and he fell that much more in love with the angel in that very moment. 

“Happy Christmas Crowley,” Aziraphale whispered as he kissed him. 

“Happy Christmas Angel.”


	3. Nutcracker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley temps Aziraphale to the ballet.

_December  
Boston, 1983_

When Crowley gave the ballet tickets to Aziraphale, the angel was initially reluctant to attend. Not because the gift was from Crowley; he had been accepting gifts from the demon for millennia. No, he was concerned given the distance they would have to travel as he certainly didn’t want to alert _upstairs_ to his continued _fraternisation_ with the so-called enemy.

In the end, it didn’t take too much convincing, as Aziraphale absolutely loved the ballet and was terribly delighted that Crowley had gone to such trouble to make the arrangements. This was how the pair found themselves sitting in the Opera House waiting for the curtain to go up. Aziraphale was telling Crowley about the time he met Tchaikovsky, when a group of school children entered the theatre, eagerly chattering excitedly about attending the Christmas production of the Nutcracker.

Crowley couldn’t help but grin at their enthusiasm and delight as they took their seats; he had a certain fondness for kids. He expected Aziraphale to grumble at them, but as he glanced over at the angel, he found that he had a fond, soft smile on his face. As the curtain went down, Aziraphale gave a slight wiggle of delight and Crowley huffed out a nearly imperceptible laugh. 

A few hours later, Aziraphale took Crowley’s arm as they headed outside after the production. “Oh Crowley, that was magnificent! Thank you, my dear boy.”

Anything for you, angel, Crowley thought. Before he could say something nonchalant or abrasive in response, Aziraphale was tugging him along into the frigid, winter air. “How lovely! It’s snowing!” The angel looked up into the fading afternoon light as the snow swirled around him, tiny flakes melting and blending into his pale blonde curls. 

Crowley looked up, snowflakes landing on his cheeks and melting on his sunglasses. His eyes met Aziraphale’s and he couldn’t help but smile. “Come on Angel, I’ll buy you a hot chocolate.”


	4. Cranberry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale and Crowley have a drunken conversation about fruit.

_A bookshop  
Soho  
London_

Aziraphale swayed drunkenly from where he was seated in his armchair. He waved his wine glass aggressively as he continued to carry on his diatribe, (rather inelegantly at this point in their drinking session). “Did you know, Crowley, did you know . . .” he paused a moment, brow furrowed, as he wasn’t quite sure what he himself knew, let alone what Crowley knew.

“Cranberries!” The angel finally shouted. “Yes, cranberries, my dear boy.” The Riesling they were drinking nearly found itself on the carpet; somehow one of them was still capable of minor wine-saving related miracles. 

“Wha’ ‘bout ‘em, Angel?” Crowley was upside down on the couch, long legs hanging over one of the arms, glasses long discarded on the coffee table. He was nearly as drunk as Aziraphale and was languid, warm and comfortable in the cosiness of the book shop.

“In America, they come in a tin,” Aziraphale crowed triumphantly as he was able to get his sentence out without slurring or losing his train of thought.

“Whazzat for then? Why’d they do that?” Crowley struggled to upright himself as to avail himself to more wine. He poured the last of the bottle into his glass.

“Amanthena, no Anmathena,” Aziraphale began to say.

“Book girl,” Crowley interrupted. 

Aziraphale sighed but relented as he wasn’t sure he could pronounce her name correctly in his drunken state. “Fine, _book girl_ said that’s how they do it for Thanksgiving. Plop, right out of the tin and onto the plate.” He grimaced, finding the concept unappealing and rather unappetising

“But ‘Ziraphale, it’s a fruit. Why’s it in a tin?” Crowley asked.

Aziraphale raised his eyebrows and bit down on his lower lip, as he pondered the demon’s question. Crowley watched the action, enraptured. Aziraphale’s lips were red like cranberries, and he wondered how soft they would be if they were to kiss. Or if they would taste like wine. Or cranberries. Or any other fruit. Maybe apples.

“Crowley,’ Aziraphale said. “Crowley!” 

“Wha’?” Crowley flinched, jerked out of his daydream.

“What were we talking about again?”


	5. Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley has a nightmare.

_A bookshop in Soho_

Fire and candlelight led Crowley to panic more easily in the early days after the events leading up to the end of the world that wasn’t. He even struggled through meals at restaurants where candles were lit; he eyed them warily as if they might spontaneously catch the entire place on fire.

Those nights he chose to sleep at his flat rather than the couch in the book shop. He didn’t want to disturb Aziraphale with the nightmares that plagued him still. 

_Pack it away tight in a box. Hide it away like it’s a gift for Christmas. Don’t let it out until then; keep it hidden from view._

What Crowley didn’t see was the way that Aziraphale was watchful and that he had picked up on the demon’s anxieties. The evenings that Crowley spent away from him were long and left him often pacing the book shop floor until dawn, further worrying the velvet of this waistcoat as he wondered what he could do to help.

It came to a head one cold afternoon when Crowley had wrapped himself up in a blanket and fallen asleep on the couch in the bookshop. He dreamt of a burning book shop, hellfire surrounding him, and the presence of an angel that he could no longer feel.

Aziraphale had been making cocoa in the kitchenette, when he heard shouting. He rushed towards the sound and found the demon thrashing about, obviously deep within a dream. He sat down beside him and pulled Crowley to him, holding him tight.

“There, there my dear boy. It’s only a dream,” he whispered soothingly.

“Angel” Crowley shouted.

“Shhhh, I’m right here.” Aziraphale carded his fingers through Crowley’s hair, offering what comfort he could. He pressed a soft kiss to his forehead.

Crowley began to rouse from his dream. He felt warm and safe, unlike what he had been experiencing in the nightmare. “’Ziraphale?” Crowley asked.

“I’m right here, dearest. Everything is just fine,” the angel said.

Cradled in the angel’s arms, Crowley began to think maybe things would be fine after all.


	6. Sleigh bells

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale gets into the Christmas spirit.

_A bookshop in Soho_

It was approaching mid-December and Aziraphale had gone overboard on the Christmas decorations. He had a fully decorated eight-foot tree in the centre of the book shop and garlands, festive ribbons and Christmas baubles were in every free nook and cranny that weren’t already filled to the brim with books. It was terribly festive and colourful.

The angel was truly enjoying himself, especially now that he had no reason not to fully embrace all of the human customs that he had restrained himself from engaging in previously. He was smoothing down his waistcoat and straightening his red and green tartan bow tie, when the bell over the shop door jangled out.

Crowley, dressed head to toe in black, entered. He was holding two takeaway coffee cups, one of which smelled like peppermint and chocolate. He took in the sight of the Christmas decorations all around the shop, including the angel himself. As he handed Aziraphale his peppermint hot chocolate, he grimaced. “Sleigh bells over the door? Really, Angel?”


	7. Silent night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A choir sings. An angel and demon listen.

_Trafalgar Square, London_

All around London people rush to and fro, heavily bundled up against the cold and the biting wind. An occasional flurry stops people in their tracks to marvel at the frozen precipitation before it begins to cause any havoc on the roads or pavements; a detriment to those on their way out of town or ones just off out to carry out their holiday shopping.

It is daytime in Trafalgar Square, the slate grey clouds overhead threatening further snow. The Christmas market is in full swing and the heady scent of chocolate mixes with the exotic spices from the stands selling sausages and roasted chestnuts along with other savoury delights.

Somewhere below them, a choir begins to sing; their voices echo up and above the noise of the square and the city.

_Silent night, holy night!  
Shepherds quake at the sight  
Glories stream from heaven afar  
Heavenly hosts sing 'Alleluia!  
Christ the Saviour is born_

An angel and a demon pass through Trafalgar on their way back to the book shop. Aziraphale stops and listens, eyes closing as if to relish this moment of peace and kindness. Crowley waits patiently, although he’s shivering in the frigid air, and presses noticeably closer to Aziraphale and his angelic warmth. He too takes a moment to listen as the choir continues on to the third verse.

Crowley feels the power of an angelic miracle going out into the world; Aziraphale passing along a blessing to those in the choir and the square. Crowley echoes it with one of his own; he had been quite fond of Jesus, so it’s the least he can do. He can feel the angel smile tenderly at him in response. 

The demon grins in return and takes Aziraphale’s gloved hand in his. They slowly continue their walk back to the book shop. Neither comment on Crowley’s continued humming of _Silent Night_ all the way back to Soho.


	8. Choir

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An angel and a demon spend a quiet evening in. This continues on from the previous chapter.

_Soho, a book shop_

After hearing the choir, Crowley remained quiet and thoughtful for some time. He thought back to his time with Jesus, not just the tempting, but the times that they had spoken while the carpenter from Galilee built homes. He had always been kind to the demon, even once he had worked out what he was. He tried to keep those memories alive, rather than the ones of his crucifixion. 

Both angel and demon spent the early part of the evening quietly, few words spoken by either of them. They found comfort in the tranquillity; two beings who have spent ages together where the peace was soft and worn like the old couch in the back of the book shop where Crowley was currently reclined.

Crowley finally broke the silence by asking if Aziraphale wanted to go out for dinner. The angel smiled in return, putting the book he was reading down, carefully marking his place for later. “Perhaps a meal in tonight, my dear. It is dreadfully cold out.” _I want to keep you safe and warm. I want to show you my love. Here is my heart, I’ve saved it for you, and you alone- my dearest one._

Crowley stretched from his position on the sofa; it had moulded to his shape after all the years of him sprawling on it. He removed his phone from his pocket and began to scroll through delivery options. 

“Perhaps something Middle Eastern,” Aziraphale remarked from his armchair.

Crowley looked over at the angel and realised he was not the only one who had let their thoughts wander that evening. “Whatever you’d like, Angel,” he replied. _Anything at all, I’d find a way to give it to you, all the books, all the crêpes and every pastry and cake known to man. Even all the kingdoms of the world. If I had my way you could have them all. You already have my heart._


	9. Chestnuts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley doesn't like chestnuts.

_Soho, a book shop_

After the end of the world that wasn’t, things changed for an angel and a demon. They spent nearly every day together, mostly at the book shop. Crowley didn’t mind; the book shop was more a home than his Mayfair flat. 

By December, Crowley had all but moved into the shop; Aziraphale having made room for some of the plants. Secretly, they both were each looking for a new home for them both in hopes of surprising the other. More of that later.

When Aziraphale dragged out dusty boxes of Christmas decorations, Crowley reluctantly helped. The demon’s kind of helping involved getting in the angel’s personal space at every opportunity, holding mistletoe over their heads so they could kiss and causing general mischief and light havoc.

Once the book shop was decked out in Victorian baubles that Aziraphale had treasured for ages and tartan ribbons, he made mulled wine for them both. They sat, drinking, looking at the tree and its somehow angelically twinkling white fairy lights.

When the angel mentioned feeling peckish, Crowley decided he needed to put his foot down as to how much Christmas was ok. “Just no chestnuts, Angel. Anything but them,” he grumbled.

“What’s wrong with chestnuts, my dear boy?” Aziraphale looked confused.

Crowley pulled a face. “Don’t like the smell,” he said. Or the taste he thought, sticking his tongue out as if that would explain everything. For some reason they reminded him of the 14th century, and the less he thought about that the better.

“How about a nice mince pie then? I know a lovely bakery the other side of Soho, that makes them from scratch.” Aziraphale sounded excited and his eyes had lit up at the very thought.

Crowley chuckled. “Mince pies sound great, Angel.” He rose from the sofa and held out his hand. “Shall we?”


	10. Gold and Silver

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's quiet in the South Downs.

_A cottage  
The South Downs  
December 2020_

Gold and silver. Silver and gold. 

It’s almost always quiet in the South Downs. A cottage illuminated by fire and white fairy lights on the tree. 

An angel and a demon sit on the sofa, fingers intertwined; their wedding bands fit together perfectly and glow in the faint light. One gold with angel wings and one a silver serpent twisting around itself like an ouroboros. 

They spend the long winter evenings like this; sometimes with cocoa, sometimes with wine. Aziraphale reads aloud, Crowley’s head in his lap. The angel’s fingers card through the demon’s curls; he wears his hair long these days for this reason alone. 

Aziraphale’s old gramophone begins to play unheeded. As they listen to the lyrics, fingers tighten, and they find themselves drawn together in a kiss. Silver and gold, angel and demon. And the pleasure and love they’ve found together.

_Silver and gold  
Silver and gold  
Silver and gold  
Ev'ryone wishes  
For silver and gold  
How do you measure  
It's worth?  
Just by the pleasure it  
Gives here on Earth_


	11. Pine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An angel and a demon take in the stars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The author knows nothing of trees or the northern lights other than what was found via google. Not really her area.

_Somewhere in Norway  
2019_

The air was crisp and clean. It smelled enticingly of pine, spruce and of a log fire in a cabin not too far away; how one might imagine magical nights in winter to smell.

Aziraphale stood in awe as he looked up at the night sky. It had been some time since he had seen the stars like this, sparkling above him in an ineffable expanse.

Crowley, dressed in a multitude of thermal and wool layers, watched Aziraphale. His eyes, for once unencumbered by his normally ever-present sunglasses, shone. He also was in awe.

“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale gasped, squeezing the demon’s hand tight as the light suddenly changed. “It’s beautiful.” The aurora borealis were now suddenly visible; ethereal as the angel himself. 

“It certainly is, Angel,” Crowley whispered, still looking at Aziraphale.


	12. Carolling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale is not having the best of days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Lavender_and_vanilla to have Aziraphale be the grumpy one in this scenario. :)

It was late afternoon and Crowley was sprawled out across the couch in the book shop, asleep. Aziraphale was tetchy; an incessant rain had been falling for most of the day, forcing the pair to cancel their plans to feed the ducks in St. James’s Park. Crowley had happily snuggled down on the couch for a nap, and Aziraphale was resigned to opening the shop and snapping at anyone who dared enter looking for a Christmas gift.

The angel was grumpily making himself a mug of cocoa in hopes that it would improve his spirits. The rain had finally ceased, but it was far too damp and dark to go feeding any ducks, ethereal and occult beings or not. He had finally just added the correct ratio of whipped cream and mini marshmallows to his cocoa, when he heard a ruckus coming from the front of the store.

Smoothing down his waistcoat and fidgeting with his bow tie, Aziraphale unhappily left his cocoa and headed towards the sound. Crowley had been roused by the disturbance and was sleepily running a hand through his hair when the angel came out of his kitchenette.

“What on earth is that racket?” Aziraphale groused, as he approached the front of the store.

“Sounds like singing,” Crowley muttered, his voice muzzy from sleep.

“Singing?” Aziraphale asked, turning towards the demon. “Why would there be singing?” The _outside his bookshop_ was left unsaid.

Crowley rose unsteadily and slithered up behind his angel. “Carolling, I s’pose. It is the season.”

Aziraphale huffed in annoyance. Why was his day not going to plan? If he hadn't been an angel, he would have stomped his foot.

Crowley moved in front of Aziraphale and opened the door, much to the angel’s chagrin. 

“Crowley,” he snapped.

“Listen, angel. Just listen.”

With an aggrieved sigh, Aziraphale did, and slowly began to relax as the caroller’s voices began to wash over him and soothed his frayed nerves like a balm. He stepped forward and put his arm around Crowley, who immediately relaxed into his angel’s warmth. 

An angel and a demon stood quietly in Soho, listening to the carol, and the world seemed a little bit more at peace as they did.

_Hark! the herald angels sing,  
"Glory to the new-born King!  
Peace on earth, and mercy mild,  
God and sinners reconciled."  
Joyful, all ye nations, rise,  
Join the triumph of the skies;  
With th' angelic host proclaim,  
"Christ is born in Bethlehem."  
Hark! the herald angels sing,  
"Glory to the new-born King!_


	13. Wrapping paper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale tries to wrap a present. It's not as easy as it looks.

_Soho, a book shop_

Aziraphale was generally good with his hands. He could wield a sword and he could rebind an ancient book with relative ease, skill and a bit of finesse. However, on this day, it appeared he had met his match: holiday wrapping paper.

Crowley watched with ill-feigned amusement while the angel poorly attempted to wrap a gift. Aziraphale had cut and re-cut the wrapping paper several times, trying to get it to yield to the shape of the box. Yet, he seemed to be thwarted with each frustrated attempt.

“Y’know you could just miracle it wrapped,” Crowley drawled from where he was sprawled out across the sofa, sunglasses long since abandoned beside him.

Aziraphale huffed in annoyance. “Of course, I know that Crowley. I thought I would do it the human way.” He missed Crowley mocking him as the demon mouthed _‘the human way’_ as the angel spoke the words.

The demon continued to watch as Aziraphale made yet another attempt and failed, finally wadding the paper up and tossing it angrily at the floor. He wouldn’t have been surprised if had also stomped away in a strop.

Crowley rolled his eyes as he swaggered over towards the table Aziraphale was working at. “Let me help, Angel. I’ll hold the paper; you get the tape.” Working together, they wrapped the gift, anticipating the other’s movements as if they had done this activity many times before. 

With Crowley’s help, the box was finally wrapped neatly. “Thank you, my dear,” Aziraphale said, pulling the other being into a hug.

“Peckish?” Crowley murmured into the angel’s ear

“Always, dearest.”


	14. Eggnog

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nanny Ashtoreth and Brother Francis attend a Christmas do at the Dowling's.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I learned an awful lot about eggnog, that I didn't already know, and I'm American (apologies). Granted, the only eggnog I ever had or saw was out of a Hood carton, so . . . .

_The Dowling residence  
Warlock’s 3rd Christmas_

An angel and a demon, or rather a _gardener and a nanny_ , were in attendance at a function held at the Dowling residence in celebration Christmas. In attendance were various government officials and dignitaries, none of whom were of interest to our gardener and nanny. Nanny Ashtoreth was keeping an eye on young Warlock, who was toddling about precariously in a crimson Christmas jumper as he was led by his mother. Brother Francis was keeping an eye on the food and beverage table. 

There were rather a lot of different and interesting food choices and beverages for the angel in disguise to peruse and taste, given that the Dowling’s were American. One of which, Nanny had already made a face at, as it was the same colour as Aziraphale’s oldest and most favourite coat. This of course, already endeared the angel as gardener towards it, and given that the antichrist and the demon nanny were occupied, he decided it was high time he had a taste.

Aziraphale made his way over to the beverage table, and picked up a chilled, cut glass tumbler. With his other hand, he picked up the ladle for the drink and carefully scooped the thick liquid into the glass. He could smell hints of cinnamon and nutmeg, along with what he thought might be Thaddeus’s Dowling’s 1926 Macallan, but he would need a demon to confirm. It would be most like Nanny to have miracled the aged whiskey into this posset-like beverage. (Nanny really did not like Thaddeus Dowling, but that’s another story for another time.)

The angelic gardener took a sip and let the spices and whiskey, accompanied by a strong overlay of vanilla, overwhelm his palate. He had just taken another sip, when young Master Warlock toddled right into his legs, causing him to dribble just a bit of eggnog onto his lower lip and chin. He was fumbling about within his pocket for a handkerchief, when Nanny appeared at his side. She quickly wiped away any traces from Aziraphale’s face with her thumb.

“Oh, thank you, Nanny,” he said gratefully.

Nanny chuckled at him, as she licked her thumb, her forked like tongue peeking out briefly. The gardener may have choked on air momentarily.

Nanny reached down and picked up the squirming antichrist and held him to her chest. She then turned, so that her lips were nearly brushing the gardener’s ear. “I couldn’t have you standing about with what looked like come on your face, now could I, angel,” she whispered with a leer.

“Crow- _Nanny_!” He hissed, his face turning crimson as the jumper on the young toddler.

Nanny Ashtoreth smirked gleefully at Brother Francis before she turned her attention to her young charge. “It’s bedtime for you, wee destroyer of worlds,” she murmured in her Scottish brogue as she carried him out of the room, hips slinking seductively. Still blushing, Brother Francis put the glass of eggnog down and went in search of the whiskey.


	15. Laughter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An angel and a demon pay a visit to Tadfield.

_Tadfield  
2019_

Somehow, Aziraphale and Crowley had been convinced to make their way down to Tadfield, that Christmas season. Crowley had been hesitant at first, however Aziraphale knew that they both wanted to ensure that Adam was doing ok, given the events of the summer just past.

It was a cold afternoon, but sunny, and snow had fallen the previous day. It left the town picturesque; perfect as if it were a scene from a book or postcard. 

An angel and a demon watched as the children engaged in a snowball fight. Aziraphale ensured that no one got hurt, while Crowley at one point had jumped in and started belting snowballs at anyone who moved, including Dog _(he was still, ultimately a hellhound and a snowball wouldn’t do any damage at all, even one thrown by a demon)_ , until his fingers turned blue and the angel chided his behaviour. 

Shivering, Crowley retreated closer to Aziraphale’s warmth. “Oh, my dear,” the angel muttered fondly as he took Crowley’s hands in his. “You should have worn gloves. You’ll catch a chill.”

“Can’t make good snowballs wearing gloves,” Crowley sniffed. 

Aziraphale scrutinised the demon before him; he could see the eyeroll from behind the ever-present sunglasses. “M’fine, Angel. Just cold.”

The angel raised an eyebrow and Crowley rolled his eyes dramatically again. “I’m not gonna discorporate, for _someone’s_ sake!” 

Aziraphale huffed, but he didn’t remove his hands from Crowley’s. He concentrated on generating just a little extra warmth in his partner’s direction.

“I’m sure you’ll think of a way to make sure I’m warm later, Angel,” Crowley said with a smirk.

“Crowley! There are children!” Aziraphale looked around in exasperation, as if The Them could hear what they were saying over their merry shrieks as they continued the snowball fight. However, the demon was not wrong. Before either could carry on that particular train of thought, they wisely turned back to the scene in front of them.

Pepper whipped a snowball at Adam and he theatrically tumbled to the ground, Dog jumping on top of him, barking. Pepper, Brian and Wensleydale, all piled on top of Adam, cheering and shouting; their gleeful enthusiasm adding to the overwhelming love coming from the town.

The sound of The Them’s laughter echoed through Tadfield. And it was good.


	16. Ice storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baby, it's cold outside.

_A cottage  
The South Downs_

It was colder outside of London and the weather was rough this first year away in their cottage. Tucked just that bit away from the world, it was like they were alone in the universe; just an angel, a demon and their love for one another.

A sudden, freak ice storm turned everything to a crystalline palace. Crowley wondered why he didn’t insist on finding a nice, little place somewhere just a bit _warmer_. He then happened to look over at Aziraphale, who was standing by the large bay window in the kitchen. It overlooked Crowley’s ice covered, glistening garden; the trees and leaves and vines once vibrant in the summer sun, now appeared to be frozen in time.

The angel’s face was lit up with delight as the newly risen sun lent a rose-coloured tint to the icy turret. The colours refracted back, lighting Aziraphale up as well; Crowley imagined he could see his halo shining bright. 

Their eyes met and they smiled at one another. Crowley realised, frigid temperatures or not, there was no place he would rather be.


	17. Ornament

_A bookshop  
Soho_

It was no surprise to anyone, including Crowley, that Aziraphale had quite the collection of ornaments that he had collected over the centuries. He had stashes of them boxed away in his back room, rotating the ones that he used every year, so that they had less of a chance of becoming faded or broken, especially the ones that were hundreds of years old.

For some reason or other, the ones that Crowley had given to him over the ages were always well represented on his tree. That was no different, this being the year that they had sort of saved the world.

There was a brand-new ornament on the tree, however. This one was more precious than any other. It was made up of two feathers; one a brilliant white and one a deep ebony. They were intertwined with a fine thread of both silver and gold which shimmered against the backdrop of fairy lights on the tree. 

Crowley stood there in front of the tree one evening, a long finger tracing the feathers delicately. There was a soft, secret smile on his face and his amber eyes were shining. Aziraphale joined him and handed the demon a glass of wine. He saw what Crowley had been looking at and smiled at him fondly. 

“To us,” Aziraphale said, lifting his glass.

“To us, and to the world,” Crowley added, clinking their glasses together.


	18. Cookies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baking is hard.

_Somewhere in England_

Cookies, brownies, biscuits, crepes; there wasn’t a dessert that Aziraphale didn’t like. Which was how Crowley found himself in the kitchen one day, a recipe pulled up on his phone and a mess of flour, egg, sugar and various other bits and bobs strewn about the place. This included the wall, celling, and Crowley’s red hair.

He was trying to do this the proper, human way, and was regretting every moment of it. Crowley rubbed flour out of his eye with the back of his hand and sighed heavily. With a wave of his hand, the mess was cleared away and all of the flour and other various sundries were back in their respective containers. 

The demon had just started weighing and measuring the dry ingredients for cookies for the umpteenth time, when Aziraphale came in. He didn’t say a word; he just stood there quietly for a moment.

Crowley put the flour down and then leaned his forearms on the counter, head bowed. “Sorry Angel. I’m just not much of a baker.”

“Oh, my dearest,” Aziraphale said, coming closer. Ignoring the detritus, he turned Crowley around and pulled him into a warm hug.

Crowley relaxed into the embrace with a sigh. He could feel Aziraphale’s soft laugh bubbling up, and it warmed him through.

“How about we try together, my dear?”


	19. Wish

_Somewhere in Mayfair_

“Seen a shooting star tonight, and I thought of you.” -Bob Dylan

Crowley stood on the top of the building he lived in in Mayfair. Wings extended, he lifted his head to the sky and looked up at the stars he had created so very long ago.

It was absolutely freezing out, but the demon decided that at that moment he was not cold, therefore he wasn’t. The small object in his breast pocket was keeping him warm; that and the fear that it would be rejected by his Angel.

A shooting star burned across the night sky, fading out as it entered the atmosphere. Crowley closed his eyes and made a wish, wings fluttering softly in the chill of the evening. 

Christmas. He would give Aziraphale the ring at Christmas.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Shooting Star](https://open.spotify.com/track/7IuEjrhTNqxzm3dcINDH7V?si=0iODfTQhQ-y0i9JVoqJIaQ) is a very Crowley song.


	20. Reindeer

_Soho  
a bookshop_

Like many nights since the world didn’t meet its fiery end, an angel and a demon were in the back room of Aziraphale’s book shop. And as things often transpired between the two, they were rather a bit tipsy. 

Crowley was sprawled across the couch and Aziraphale had just returned from fetching another bottle of wine. He poured their glasses full and then sat down in his armchair, given that the demon had not left a centimetre of room available.

This caused Crowley to sit up rather quickly, and the wine rather went to his head for a moment and he very nearly tumbled to the floor. Instead, he quickly righted himself, while cursing inwardly for being such a fool. 

As he tried to cover for his mishap, he shouted out, “Reindeer!” 

Azirapahle blinked. “I’m sorry, my dear. What?”

Crowley gulped his wine in a manner most unbecoming to the vintage. He could almost hear the angel chiding him. “’Zirapahle, reindeer! They’re deer for,” he paused a moment, trying to remember where his train of thought had gone. 

“Rain,” he shouted. “They’re deer you can ride in the rain!” Crowley grinned drunkenly; proud he had made such a brilliant statement. 

Aziraphale made a face. “I’m sorry my dear, but I rather think that’s incorrect. They are really just carbeaus, carribean, no carbine.” He shook his head, trying to clear it. “Deer suited for the cold,” he finally got out, following a long sip of wine. 

“Deer you can ride in the snow?” Crowley asked.

“Yes, dearest. Deer you can ride in the snow.” Aziraphale smiled fondly, if a bit tipsily at Crowley.

“That’s why Santa’s got ‘em then. S’cold in the North Pole, Angel,” the demon said matter-of-factly. He stretched out on the couch again, wineglass in hand.

Azirapahle began to wonder if opening this fourth bottle of wine had been a grave mistake.


	21. Gift

_Somewhere in London_

Aziraphale fretted and fussed over what to get Crowley for Christmas. Now, he didn’t have to get the demon anything at all; it wasn’t like they normally exchanged gifts at Christmas. But this year, this year was certainly different, after the world didn’t end.

It was a shame he couldn’t give Crowley a book. Heaven knew he had scores of the things! He wanted to give him something that held meaning; that could show his long-time friend and more, exactly how much he meant to him. That also ruled out plants, seedlings and seeds, designer sunglasses and anything leather.

Aziraphale bundled up against the chill of the day, donning a camel coloured wool coat, soft tartan scarf and gloves. He headed out into the crowds of Soho and beyond, hoping that he might find the perfect gift for his demon.

Two hours later, Aziraphale was ready to admit defeat and find a café where he could drown his sorrows in tea and cake. As he made his way back out of Covent Garden and back towards the book shop, he spotted a tiny antique shop. Entering inside, the atmosphere reminded him of his own edifice, and immediately felt at ease. _This_ would be the place, he thought to himself as he approached a glass-topped counter.

Moments later, he spotted it. Tucked in the back corner of the display case, lay a small silver object. With a smile, he beckoned the shop keeper over, his eyes filled with delight and love.


	22. Warmth

_A book shop  
Soho_

Crowley woke slowly. He was surrounded by warmth, and his instincts told him _safe, safe, safe_. He flicked his tongue out; Angel. He was with Aziraphale. 

The demon then realised the reason he was warm; he was quite literally wrapped around a very toasty and _soft_ angel. The only way he could have been any closer to the ethereal being would had he turned into a snake and curled around the angel’s sleeping form. The very fact that he was this close to the angel had him nearly doing so instinctively; it was only the shock that Aziraphale was actually asleep that kept him reverting to his cold-blooded form. 

Blinking his eyes blearily, he vaguely recalled polishing off several bottles of wine with his Angel the evening before and then after he had sobered up a bit, he wandered upstairs and fell asleep in Aziraphale’s rarely used, but very comfortable bed. At some point in the evening, the angel in question must have joined him. 

He began to fret and wonder if he should carefully pull away and go home and yell at his plants to recover from _whatever_ this was. Crowley was just about to carefully extricate himself when the angel spoke. 

“I can hear you thinking, my dear.”

“Angel, I can. . .”

“There’s nothing to explain, dearest.”

“Ngk.”

“Eloquent as ever,” Aziraphale teased. He gently tugged Crowley closer to him, placing a gentle kiss on the demon’s forehead. 

“Are you . . .? I should . . .” Crowley began. He tried to pull away, but the angel was deceptively strong, and his arms were now around his lithe form and Crowley was so, so warm. 

“Stay. Please stay, Crowley.”

“ _Angel_ ,” he breathed. 

Cerulean eyes met amber and all Crowley could see was love there. Maybe it had been there all this time and he just hadn’t seen. 

“Angel,” Crowley whispered again before he leaned forward and placed a tender kiss on Aziraphale’s lips.


	23. Ghosts

_Somewhere in London_

It was a bright December morning and Crowley had taken Aziraphale out to breakfast. Crowley was on his second cup of coffee, while the angel finished up his crêpes. Aziraphale was happily wiggling contentedly in his seat as he finished up his meal, making delighted noises as he ate.

Crowley watched the angel fondly, while simultaneously listening to the conversations of the other patrons in the café. Two of them were chattering excitedly away about something that was going to be on the telly at Christmas about ghosts. 

“You ever see any, Angel?” Crowley asked, after taking a mouthful of coffee.

“Any what, dear?” Aziraphale dabbed at his mouth neatly with a napkin.

“Ghosts,” Crowley said.

“Oh, don’t be silly Crowley!” Aziraphale sighed and placed the serviette down on the table. 

“It’s not silly! It’s a valid question!” Crowley gestured dramatically, long limbs flailing.

“Why, have you?” Aziraphale raised an eyebrow.

‘Course not. Always wanted to, though. More tea, Angel?” Crowley grinned devilishly at his partner.

Aziraphale shook his head in disbelief at his demon. He was terribly incorrigible. But he couldn’t live without him, he thought.

“Another pot of tea would be lovely, my dear," Aziraphale stated, smiling fondly at Crowley.


	24. Holiday card

_Soho  
A book shop_

Over the years, Aziraphale has received a few holiday cards each year; some years more than others. The years he attended his gentleman’s club were the most fruitful in that area. It seemed all the gentlemen of his acquaintance happened upon his address and sent him some very _lovely_ cards. Some years, he would only receive one or two from various correspondents and other rare book dealers.

Cards had been few and far between over the past decade. While he was in the employ of the Dowling’s he received one from them and Crowley always made sure he had a handmade one from Warlock.

The year the world did not end was entirely different.

Aziraphale received many cards that Christmas; some were even addressed to both him and Crowley. There were cards from each of the Them, Anathema and Newt, Madame Tracy and Shadwell. There was even a card from the Young’s, much to the surprise of both the angel and demon. 

The year the world did not end, Aziraphale also received a card from Crowley.

It was a simple thing, a view of a cottage near the sea. The ground was covered in snow, but it looked like a delightful place to go. He said as much to Crowley.

“Ngk,” was the elegant response from the demon.

“I’m sorry, dear. What was that?” Aziraphale looked confused.

Crowley ran a hand across his face in frustration. How could he possibly know?

“Just that when you said that it looked delightful, it threw me, that’s all. Because it is. Delightful.”

Aziraphale continued to look puzzled for a moment until he understood. “Oh! It’s a real place! I hadn’t realised, my dear. I thought it was just a card.”

Crowley took a breath and shoved his hands in the impossibly tight pockets of his trousers. “It’s not just a card, Angel. S’nice place, in the South Downs.” He paused for a moment and then looked up at his angel, eyes not hidden by his sunglasses for once. His expression was mixed with fear and hope.

“Our place, if you’d like it to be.”


	25. Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Christmas. And if you can't say it at Christmas. . .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the late posting of these. I had company for the holidays and have been struggling to catch up!

_Soho,  
A book shop  
2019_

Christmas morning, and Crowley was nervous. He had told himself that today would be the day. However, three mimosas in, he was beginning to think that he was going to have to abort. He was terrified. Not of asking, but of being rejected. 

They had enjoyed a lovely breakfast of freshly baked brioche, well Aziraphale had at least; Crowley watched the angel relish each bite. The unbridled joy that was found in a simple breakfast- well Crowley didn’t want to ruin that; he didn’t want to be the reason, the cause that his Angel wasn’t the image of rapturous delight and happiness.

The demon was currently sprawled across the couch in Aziraphale’s flat. It wasn’t quite as comfortable or broken in as the one in the back room of the book shop, but it was soft, like his angel. It made him even more conscious of the ring in his pocket.

Aziraphale bustled into the room, a mimosa in each hand. “Here you go, my dear,” he said, smiling fondly at Crowley.

Crowley accepted the drink with a nod, afraid that his voice might give him away. He took a sip, enjoying the bubbles from the champagne as they fizzed and popped. He was glad of the distraction, as Aziraphale sat down beside him, their knees just barely touching. It wasn’t as if they had never touched before; it was the pressure he was putting on himself to get this right.

“Are you alright, my dear?” Aziraphale asked softly. “You’ve gone awfully quiet.”

Crowley sighed inwardly. The last thing he wanted to do was worry Aziraphale. He took a deep breath. He was the bloody serpent of Eden; he could do this! He drained his glass and set it down on the table and turned towards the angel.

Aziraphale was sat there looking terrified, twisting a small box in his hands. “My love,” he began nervously. 

“Angel,” Crowley moaned. He fumbled within his suit jacket and pulled out a similar box.

Crowley wasn’t sure who moved first, but then they were kissing, embracing, showering each other with love. Aziraphale had his fingers tangled in his hair and there were tears coursing down both their faces. 

“Marry me, Angel,” Crowley gasped out between kisses. 

“Yes, yes of course,” Aziraphale moaned. He kissed Crowley tenderly, then thumbed away the tears from under the demon’s amber eyes.

“Ngk,” Crowley managed to get out.

“Oh, my darling demon, I do love you.” Aziraphale smiled at him, eyes shining. He reached out for Crowley’s hand, sliding the ring on his finger. 

Crowley looked down at his hand, staring at it, almost in shock. It was his angel’s signet ring. It took him a moment and then he mirrored the action, sliding the silver serpent ring onto Aziraphale’s ring finger. He then intertwined their fingers, silver and gold together.

“Angel, I love you. I’ve always loved you,” Crowley whispered.

Aziraphale kissed him tenderly. “Happy Christmas, Crowley.”

“Happy Christmas, Aziraphale.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, these are the same rings as in chapter 10!


	26. Cider

_Somewhere in London_

Aziraphale preferred wine over cider when all was said and done. Through the ages of course, that was sometimes all that he could find, alcohol-wise. However, this cider that he and Crowley were enjoying was quite exquisite and delightfully fruity. They had initially gone out for a coffee and cake which had then turned into drinks.

“S’nice, isn’t it?” Crowley asked, bottle dangling from his fingertips.

“Yes, it is rather. Perhaps we could get a case of it. It really is delicious,” agreed Aziraphale. His face turned thoughtful, his nose crinkling at the bridge as he pondered. Crowley tried not to find that overly adorable and endearing. He would by his angel a dozen cases of cider if it made him smile like that.


	27. Champagne

_A book shop  
Soho_

They celebrated their engagement with champagne, a vintage that Aziraphale had tucked away for a special occasion. He would have brought it out after the end of the world that wasn’t, but they had celebrated at the Ritz, and by the time they had made it back to the book shop, they were more than tipsy and had moved onto other activities.

This day, this Christmas day, they celebrated with vintage champagne; their hands intertwined as if they were afraid to separate. They sat by the fire, exchanging gentle touches and kisses, drinking, giggling, reminiscing. 

And it was perfect.


	28. Snowball

_Soho  
A book shop  
At some point before the end of the world that wasn't_

Upon waking, Aziraphale realised that he must have fallen asleep on his couch at some point. He felt slightly disorientated, but warm and safe. A blanket had been tucked around him. He looked around the room; he was alone.

He had dreamt of Crowley; he couldn’t quite recall specifics, just the feeling of safety and love. He’d been lounging on his back, skin bare and Crowley had been nestled between his thighs, resting as if he had been designed to fit there; perhaps he had. The demon’s hair was long, much longer than he’d worn it recently. It was as long and flowing as it had been before the flood. Long, luscious curls that he had run his fingers through, carefully smoothing out any tangles, while they laid there together in the angel’s bed.

Aziraphale took a deep breath, trying to calm his thoughts and feelings before they had a chance to snowball any further. It was just a dream, yet, he was left with a feeling of longing and sadness.

With a sigh, he rose from the sofa and went to make himself a cup of tea. And maybe after, he would give Crowley a call.


	29. Glitter

_Somewhere on the M40_

It was a foggy morning in London. However, this did not stop an angel and a demon from carrying out their plans for the day. Crowley had agreed to drive Aziraphale to see a rare book dealer in Oxford; anything to spend more time with his angel. Given the weather, he was even driving the speed limit, much to the angel’s delight.

As they headed down the M40, the fog began to lessen. It appeared and disappeared in swathes of thick mist, almost glittering as it was illuminated by the Bentley’s headlamps.

Normally a nervous passenger, Aziraphale seemed to not be as bothered by Crowley’s driving. Perhaps it was because he was obeying the speed limit. Or perhaps the angel knew that his demon would never risk their lives, not now, not after what happened in Tadfield. 

Crowley flicked his eyes in the direction of the angel. “All right, Angel?”

“Yes, my dear. Absolutely tickety-boo,” Aziraphale replied. He reached over and patted Crowley’s thigh. 

Crowley reached down and interlaced their fingers, letting their hands rest on his thigh. He looked over at Aziraphale and smiled. The angel beamed back, wiggling happily in his seat.

“Tell me about the books you’re after, Angel,” Crowley said.

Aziraphale began to enthusiastically tell Crowley all about the books, the book dealer, and the quaint little café that they could stop at on the way back. They had a delightful afternoon tea, the angel explained, with an absolutely scrumptious Victoria Sponge and espresso that a certain demon might enjoy.

The demon allowed the chatter to wash over him; the angel’s excitement was infectious, and it made him feel warm inside. He would need to crash some websites later or engage in some other sort of demonic activity to counter all of this angelic influence and love. But for now, he just smiled and listened to his angel.


	30. Resolution

_Soho  
A book shop_

Crowley watched as Aziraphale slept. It was such a rare sight, to see the Angel in slumber; he still preferred to read while Crowley himself slept.

He looked relaxed and peaceful; angelic. Perfect. Crowley made a resolution then and there to tell Aziraphale how much he was loved every day for the remainder of their lives.

Satisfied, the demon curled up next to his warm, soft angel and drifted back to sleep.


	31. Auld Lang Syne

_Soho  
A book shop_

It was the last day of the year, the last of the decade. Aziraphale was re-organising some books in a system only he understood, humming ‘Auld Lang Syne’ as he worked. Crowley was lounging across the sofa as per usual. He’d scanned the newspaper and now was scrolling through social media, half his concentration on that, the other focused on Aziraphale’s angelic presence and his soft humming.

Suddenly, the angel stopped, and his comforting aura and presence seemed to go cold. Alarmed, Crowley dropped his mobile and rushed to Aziraphale’s side.

Aziraphale stood in front of a bookshelf, one hand pressed against the wood, as if to brace him and keep him upright; the other covering his mouth, trying to muffle the sobs threatening to escape. Crowley scanned the area; no angelic or demonic presence other than their own. This only meant that the danger that lurked within the angel himself. 

“Angel,” Crowley said softly, soothingly as he approached his partner. Aziraphale gasped out a sob and his eyes filled with tears.

“Oh, Angel.” Crowley pulled the angel close, wrapping his arms around him.

Aziraphale allowed himself to be held, leaning his head against Crowley’s shoulder. He sobbed uncontrollably, shaking apart in the demon’s arms.

The sound threatened to break the demon. “C’mon,” he murmured into Aziraphale’s soft curls, as he led him back to the sofa. He got them both settled, his angel still shuddering and gasping out soft, hiccupping sobs. After a few minutes of Crowley rubbing the angel’s back, the sobs finally trailed off.

“Oh, dove,” Crowley said quietly. He removed a silk handkerchief from his pocket and began to gently dry Aziraphale’s tears. After a moment, the angel took over, one warm hand placed over Crowley’s. He finally finished drying his eyes and blew his nose; blasted corporations and their fluids.

“I’m sorry, my dear boy,” Aziraphale said quietly.

“Nothing to be sorry for, Angel.” Crowley paused for a moment. “Do you want to tell me what upset you. Y’don’t have to . . .,” he trailed off.

Aziraphale sat up, twisting the silk cloth in his hands. “I just got to thinking. How many New Years have we seen, Crowley? And how close did we come to not seeing another one? If we hadn’t . . .. If _Adam_ hadn’t . . ..” He sighed heavily.

Crowley didn’t know what to say to that; he had his own demons (so to speak) to face. “Despite everything, Angel, we’re here. It’s. . .,” Crowley cringed. “ _Ineffable_.”

Aziraphale chuckled softly at that; that was usually his line.

“We’re here and together, Aziraphale. That’s all that matters now,” Crowley said.

Aziraphale nodded. He didn’t quite trust his voice at the moment.

“Anything you want Angel, and it’s yours. Tea? Crêpes? Brioche?”

Aziraphale gave him a soft smile. “Would you mind terribly just sitting here with me, my dear?”

“’Course not. C’mere.” Crowley opened his arms out towards the angel.

Aziraphale let Crowley hold him, the demon’s long fingers carding gently through his white blonde curls. “Happy New Year, dearest,” he finally said, feeling calmer.

“Happy New Year, my Angel,” Crowley replied before tilting Aziraphale’s head up for a tender kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And, that's it! Thank you to everyone who has read, commented, and left kudos. It's always most appreciated. I do hope you all have a very happy new year!

**Author's Note:**

> Fig leaf mousse is really a dessert one can get at the Ritz. An expensive dessert, none the less, but what is cost to someone who can conjure up money at will, anyway?


End file.
